The choirs in my head say no
by SweetG
Summary: -Implied DerekStiles- He sees things, he's got eyes. He notices how they never stop touching him. They let hands rest a touch too long, let legs press together with his under the tables; there's a lot of it. A lot of skin on skin that isn't subtle and isn't something he can quite understand. Not that he's implying anything about Stilinski.


He sees things, he's got eyes.

He notices how they never stop touching him. They let hands rest a touch too long, let legs press together with his under the tables; there's a lot of it. A lot of skin on skin that isn't subtle and isn't something he can quite understand.

Not that he's implying anything about Stilinski, he's a cool dude, and he's smart, and loyal, and really really funny, and also sort of-maybe-possibly very attractive; if you are into dudes. But he'd just never envisioned the guy miraculously getting over his massive Lydia-induced perma-boner any time soon.

Well, that, and the poly thing. Because one + one + one on a daily basis and with this level of intimacy that is constantly on display jumps from the 'having hot hot threesome sex' category to the 'working a polyamorous relationship', right? And he'd always thought of Stilinski as the kind of guy fiercely devoted to monogamous relationships.

Maybe he was wrong, maybe everyone is a little wrong when reading Stilinski.

Still, he can see that Stilinski's still a little stiff about the arrangement. Or maybe a little awkward about the public displays of said arrangement, which kinda makes more sense. Can see that when Erica slides her hand up his thigh and Isaac guides his to the small of Stilinski's back, he sits straighter. Sees the way his throat works over time.

It could maybe even be a little funny. To see the guy who's got a smartass reply to every-fucking-thing waiting on the tip of his tongue reduced to a blushing maiden.

And a little cute, too.

If you're into dudes.

* * *

He can't really pinpoint when this started, to be honest, and that sort of bothers him a bit, for reasons he doesn't want to dig in. Really, however, it must be a recent development. The town's small enough for something as juicy as this to reach everyone's ears in no time at all.

And the hallways seem strangely devoid of excited whispers and childish finger pointing in Stilinski's direction. Or Erica's, or Isaac's.

Okay, who's he kidding? Most kids wouldn't dare to do any of that to them, even if they were dying to. They are probably afraid of even thinking of pointing in either Erica's or Isaac's direction since they had their face heel turn and decided to become the HDIC (head douches in charge; like HBIC, just less mysoginistic. Maybe). And Stilinski... Well, he guesses they'd be dreading retaliation from his whatever-they-are if they bothered him, so that'd be a big a no-no too.

But still, he thinks he'd notice the heavy curious stares, if nothing else, if the whole student body was already on the know about the weirdest romance Beacon Hills High School's seen. In the history of ever.

So, new.

New enough, in fact, that even McCall and the rest of Stilinski's usual crowd seems weirded out when Isaac and Erica walk straight up to their lunch table one day and sit themselves right next to Stilinski, all rubbing skin and rustling of fabric, and practically merging with him in ther effort to squeeze themselves between the kid's body and that of Danny and Lydia Martin, who'd been the ones sitting next to him previously.

That makes him feel better. To know that he's not that out of the loop.

* * *

The school finds out at the very same time Stiles' friends do, it appears. And he was right to think that they'd mostly keep their gossiping to themselves, because even though they stare (and how do they stare, all confused, and criticizing, and downright offensive in their disbelief -mainly directed at Stilinski-), they don't even nudge at each other when Erica grabs hold of Stilinski's hand in a grip that looks firm, powerful and possessive (like the starving gleam in her eyes) and Isaac throws one of his arms over his shoulders, easy and secure and leaning even more into Stilinki's space to tell him something that makes him blush and sputter indignantly an answer that he can't quite hear, and makes Erica smile all predatory.

* * *

He watches.

And he notices how they never stop touching him, and it should be funny, or weird, or even hot. But somehow it just isn't.

* * *

"Greenberg, stop focusing so hard on your damn shoe-laces and start running suicides! Now!"

He lifts his head, startled.

Only to find Isaac Lahey staring right at him, near than he's ever to him, lips twisted upwards in the ugliest smirk he's ever seen.

"Hey, man." He says, amicable, even though Isaac is violating his personal space like a pro and looking at him like he wants nothing more than to punch him.

"You," Isaac answers, smirk still in place, "are going to keep your eyes to yourself, okay? Like the good boy you are."

"I, what? Eyes? What the fuck are you on about, Lahey?" He says (feigning that he can't tell where his eyes have been staying, longer and longer, lately. Acting like he doesn't know where his eyes have been for most of today's practice, before being busted by McCall one too many times and redirecting his gaze to his footwear), at the same time that coach yells at them to start running their damn drills.

"Oh, that's a good one." He laughs, rough and low, and he thinks 'oh fuck, I saw what he did the other day to those guys in the locker room, I'm in so much shit'. "Just keep your eyes to yourself. And your hands. Or I won't be even close to being the biggest of your worries. In fact, I'll pretty much be the least of them." His eyes go the stands. "Believe me when I say this is friendly advice."

Then he is leaving and catching up to Stilinski and pressing his hand to the kid's back before starting with his own drills.

He hears coach coming up to him but he can't help himself. He turns around towards the stands, not knowing what to expect.

Erica's there, with her leather jacket open and her boobs on display in the lowest cut shirt he's ever seen outside of porn. Her eyes are glued to him, and she's showing him all of her teeth in a way that reminds him of one of his neighbour's dog.

But she's not alone.

There's a guy sitting next to her. A dark, brooding dude that looks a little too old to be hanging around a high school's ground. He's wearing a leather jacket of his own, and he's also one of the (if not the) buffest dudes he's seen outside of porn. His face might've been somewhat good looking, but he can't really tell because his eyes are fiery and set on him in the same way Erica's are, and he's snarling at him with an intensity that makes him more scared than he's ever been.

Coach catches up to him and drags him bodily by his shirt towards the rest of his team mates.

He can feel the guy's eyes on him, burning, for the rest of the practice.

* * *

When practice is over and he's undressing to take a shower before scramming, something occurs to him.

He's never seen Erica or Isaac kissing either Stiles or each other.

He wonders what that means, and if it has anything to do with the creepy guy sitting in the stands.

His mind goes back to the look in the dude's eyes. It probably does.

* * *

He hears Stiles' voice from one of the showers, talking a mile a minute about something that he can't quite decipher to Scott, voice a wave of ups and downs. His hearts does this weird stunt that might be what people call 'skipping a beat'.

He does his level best to ignore the feeling that lingers after that, deep inside his chest (and maybe also settled somewhere between his lungs) until it subsides a little.

'Believe me when I say this is friendly advice.' he hears inside the walls of his head, as he's stepping under the warm spray of water, as Stiles explodes in laughter from his place a few showers away, as he keeps his eyes on the ground.


End file.
